But Allie had been there before .... And the rack tightened its grip, another partcoming together.
Another part.., but there was more .... Allie, New Bern... and.., and.., something at aparty. A comment in passing.
From Allie's mother. He'd hardly noticed it. But what had she said?
And Lon paled then, remembering. Remembering what had been said so long ago.
Remembering what Allie's mother had said.
It was something about Allie being in love one time with a young man from New Bern.
Called it puppy love. So what, he had thought when he'd heard it, and had turned tosmile at Allie.
But she hadn't smiled. She was angry. And then Lon guessed that she had loved thatperson far more deeply than her mother had suggested.
Maybe even more deeply than she loved him. And now she was there. Interesting.
Lon brought his palms together, as though he were praying, resting them against hislips. Coincidence? Could be nothing. Could be exactly what she said. Could be stressand antique shopping. Possible. Even probable. Yet... yet.., what if?
Lon considered the other possibility, and for the first time in a long time, he becamefrightened.
What if? What if she with him?
He cursed the trial, wishing it were over. Wishing he had gone with her. Wondering ifshe'd told him the truth, hoping that she had. And he made up his mind then not tolose her. He would do anything it took to keep her. She was everything he'd alwaysneeded, and he'd never find another quite like her.
So, with trembling hands, he dialed the phone for the fourth and last time thatevening. And again there was no answer.
Yaks and Forgotten reams
Allie woke early the next morning, forced by the incessant chirping of starlings,and rubbed her eyes, feeling the stiffness in her body. She hadn't slept well, wakingafter every dream, and she remembered seeing the hands of the clock in differentpositions during the night, as if verifying the passage of time.
She'd slept in the soft shirt he'd given her, and she smelled him once again whilethinking about the evening they'd spent together. The easy laughter andconversation came back to her, and she especially remembered the way he'd talkedabout her painting.
It was so unexpected, yet uplifting, and as the words began to replay in her mind, sherealized how sorry she would have been had she decided not to see him again.
She looked out the window and watched the chattering birds search for food in earlylight. Noah, she knew, had always been a morning person who greeted dawn in hisown way. She knew he liked to kayak or canoe, and she remembered the one morningshe'd spent with him in his canoe, watching the sun come up. She'd had to sneak outher window to do it because her parents wouldn't allow it, but she hadn't beencaught and she remembered how Noah had slipped his arm around her and pulledher close as dawn began to unfold. "Look there," he'd whispered, and she'd watchedher first sunrise with her head on his shoulder, wondering if anything could be betterthan what was happening at that moment.
And as she got out of bed to take her bath, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet,she wondered if he'd been on the water this morning watching another day begin,thinking somehow he probably had. She was right.
Noah was up before the sun and dressed quickly, same jeans as last night, undershirt,clean flannel shirt, blue jacket, and boots. He brushed his teeth before goingdownstairs, drank a quick glass of milk, and grabbed two biscuits on the way out thedoor. After Clem greeted him with a couple of sloppy licks, he walked to the dockwhere his kayak was stored. He liked to let the river work its magic, loosening up hismuscles, warming his body, clearing his mind.
The old kayak, well used and river stained, hung on two rusty hooks attached to hisdock just above the waterline to keep off the barnacles. He lifted it free from thehooks and set it at his feet, inspected it quickly, then took it to the bank.
In a couple of seasoned moves long since mastered by habit, he had it in the waterworking its way upstream with himself as the pilot and engine.
The air was cool on his skin, almost crisp, and the sky was a haze of different colors:black directly above him like a mountain peak, then blues of infinite range, becominglighter until it met the horizon, where gray took its place. He took a few deep breaths,smelling pine trees and brackish water, and began to reflect. This had been part ofwhat he'd missed most when he had lived up north. Because of the long hours atwork, there had been little time to spend on the water. Camping, hiking, paddling onrivers, dating, working . . . something had to go. For the most part he'd been able toexplore New Jersey's countryside on foot whenever he'd had extra time,but infourteen years he hadn't canoed or kayaked once. It had been one of the first thingshe'd done when he returned.
There's something special, almost mystical, about spending dawn on the water, hethought to himself, and he did it almost every day now.
Sunny and clear or cold and bitter, it never mattered as he paddled in rhythm to musicin his head, working above water the color of iron. He saw a family of turtles restingon a partially submerged log and watched as a heron broke for flight, skimming justabove the water before vanishing into the silver twilight that preceded sunrise.
He paddled out to the middle of the creek, where he watched the orange glow beginto stretch across the water. He stopped paddling hard, giving just enough effort tokeep him in place, staring until light began to break through the trees. He always likedto pause at day‐break‐‐there was a moment when the view was spectacular, as if the
world were being born again. Afterward he began to paddle hard, working off thetension, preparing for the day.
While he did that, questions danced in his mind like water drops in a frying pan.
He wondered about Lon and what type of man he was, wondered about theirrelationship.
Most of all, though, he wondered about Allie and why she had come.
By the time he reached home, he felt renewed. Checking his watch, he was surprisedto find that it had taken two hours. Time always played tricks out there, though,and he'd stopped questioning it months ago.
He hung the kayak to dry, stretched for a couple of minutes, and went to the shedwhere he stored his canoe. He carried it to the bank, leaving it a few feet from thewater, and as he turned toward the house, he a little stiff.
The morning haze he knew the stiffness noted that his legs were still hadn't burnedoff yet, and in his legs usually predicted rain. He looked to the western sky and sawstorm clouds, thick and heavy, far off but definitely present. The winds weren'tblowing hard, but they were bringing the clouds closer. From the looks of them, hedidn't want to be outside when they got here. Damn. How much time did he have? Afew hours, maybe more. Maybe less.
He showered, put on new jeans, a red shirt, and black cowboy boots, brushed his hair,and went downstairs to the kitchen. He did the dishes from the night before, pickedup a little around the house, made himself some coffee, and went to the porch. Thesky was darker now, and he checked the barometer. Steady, but it would startdropping soon. The western sky promised that.
He'd learned long ago to never underestimate the weather, and he wondered if it wasa good idea to go out. The rain he could deal with; lightning was a different story.
Especially if he was on the water. A canoe was no place to be when electricity sparkedin humid air.
He finished his coffee, putting off the decision until later. He went to the toolshedand found his ax. After checking the blade by pressing his thumb to it, he sharpenedit with a whetstone until it was ready. "A dull ax is more dangerous than a sharp one,"
his daddy used to say.
He spent the next twenty minutes splitting and stacking logs. He did it easily, hisstrokes efficient, and didn't break a sweat. He set a few logs off to the side forlater and brought them inside when he was finished, putting them by thefireplace. He looked at Allie's painting again and reached out to touch it, bringing
